Remember Jamie Baker (Jamie Baker #3)(67)

When I realized that I believed him, I sighed in defeat and laced our hands together. “Thanks.”





And we were back to the stupid cotton gown. I sat on the table—at least this one was minus the crinkly paper—and Ryan stood at my side. There was a chair for him along the side of the room, but until they told him to get out of the way, he wasn’t going to let go of my hand.

Dr. Rajeet returned with seven doctors, whom he introduced as esteemed colleagues and the absolute best in the world in neurological care. All of them gave me the creeps, but that could have been because one of them was most likely a crazy mad scientist in cahoots with James Donovan, desperate to capture me for his lab experiments. Thankfully, Dr. Rajeet would be the one actually administering my tests. The others were only there to assist, observe, and throw in their two cents when needed.

They started with the simple stuff—blood, urine, and DNA samples. I didn’t know what they hoped to find in my blood that would help me get my memory back, but I kept quiet and let them have their fun. Ryan and I had both held our breaths when they’d pulled out the needle. I was strong, but thankfully I wasn’t impenetrable. No Man of Steel skin for me. I hadn’t been sure until then.

Next came another MRI, CT scan, and EEG. Those didn’t scare me since I’d already had them done before. But after that, they got a little more creative.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what is that?” I asked when one of the new doctors handed a syringe to Dr. Rajeet. “Taking a blood sample is one thing, but you’re not injecting anything into me.”

All of the doctors jerked back at my outburst, especially the doctor who’d brought over the unidentified liquid he wanted to shoot into my body. Dr. Rajeet paused. “Miss Baker, I assure you this is safe. We’d like to perform a simple PET scan.”

“Meaning?”

He held up the needle. “Meaning a standard medical test that we use to highlight tumors and diseased tissue. It can also measure cellular and/or tissue metabolism, and show blood flow in your brain.”

I sighed. He said it was standard, but I still didn’t like the look of that needle. I eyed the man who’d given Dr. Rajeet the syringe. Was he Donovan’s partner? Had he swapped needles when no one was looking and replaced it with something else that could harm me?

As if reading my thoughts, Ryan squeezed my hand. “It’s okay, babe. Let the doctors do their job. That’s why we came.”

Not that what he said was convincing in the least, but he said it with such surety. And who could say no to that face? Seriously, who? Reluctantly, I held my arm out to Dr. Rajeet. I watched silently as he sterilized my inner elbow, and I held my breath as he pumped the liquid into my body. I felt its cool foreignness travel up my arm. “What is that stuff?”

Dr. Rajeet’s eyes brightened. “It’s a mix of special radioactive isotopes that will bind with certain chemicals that flow to your brain. Here, lie back.”

Ryan started to help me lie back, but I snapped up. “Did he just say radioactive?”

Ryan pushed me back. “Babe, lie down.”

“He just pumped me full of radioactive material!”

Dr. Rajeet smiled as he adjusted some kind of machine above me. “Completely harmless, I assure you. These scanners will be able to detect the gamma rays—”

“Gamma rays!” I shot up again. “Oh, hell no.”

“Miss Baker, please try to relax.”

Ryan placed his hands on my shoulders.

“Gamma rays, Ryan. The man just said gamma rays.”

The doctors in the room all chuckled at my reaction, but I didn’t find it funny. My life was already comic book enough without radioactive isotopes and gamma rays.

“It’s perfectly safe, Miss Baker. We use this test to evaluate patients who have seizure disorders that don’t respond to medical therapy, and for patients with certain memory disorders. It can help us determine brain changes following an injury. We might learn more about your condition. Why it happened, how, if it’s still happening, or if it’s likely to happen again.”

That gave me pause. It sounded like medical mumbo jumbo, but at least it was about my memory. And I did not like the possibility of any more brain damage, thank-you-very-much.

Ryan took advantage of my hesitation and gently pushed me back until I was once again lying on the hospital bed. He pulled my hand to his lips. “You’ve got to trust him.”

I pulled him down to me so I could speak in a whisper. “Fine, but you said I was cooked in toxic waste. What if I’m already radioactive? What if the gamma rays they detect aren’t normal? What if they figure out my secret? Or what if whatever they just pumped into me reacts badly with whatever’s already in my system?”

I could see I had him stumped. His brow furrowed with concern. But before either of us could make any kind of decision, Ryan was pulled away from me and I was pushed into the large white tube of a machine that they’d used to do my CT scan and my MRI.

I could have climbed out. I could have forced them to stop. But that seemed more suspicious than anything else, so I tried to relax. There were a few moments of silence, and then people began to gasp. “What on earth?” someone asked while another whispered, “Would you look at that.”

Every medical person in the room quickly gathered around some monitor to gawk and stare. “It’s impossible,” someone said.